


The Trial

by flaggermousse



Series: Picking up the Pieces [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, POV Amelia Bones, POV Outsider, Post-First War with Voldemort, Sirius Black Gets a Trial, Trial Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaggermousse/pseuds/flaggermousse
Summary: The dementors led Black to the chair in the middle of the court room, where chains sprung to life as he sat down, wrapping around his arms. When the creatures left, Bartemius Crouch rose from his seat. “You are Sirius Orion Black?”“Yes.” Black looked weary and drained, but the hands that gripped the chair had a tense, nervous energy to them.“You stand accused of thirteen counts of murder carried out November 1st1981. You are also accused of spying and feeding information to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, information that aided him and his followers in committing more crimes, among them the murders of Lily and James Potter, on October 31st1981. How do you plead?”“N-not guilty.”
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (mentioned)
Series: Picking up the Pieces [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972801
Comments: 81
Kudos: 358





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [O julgamento](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29162028) by [Saturntheplanet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturntheplanet/pseuds/Saturntheplanet)



It had been a beautiful May morning when Amelia Bones arrived at the Ministry, but down in Courtroom 10, no windows let the sunshine in. The sound of several people talking in hushed voices reminded her of leaves rustling in a breeze. A table and chair were ready for her at right side of the floor, where she was close to both the members of Wizengamot and the man she would be defending. Amelia placed the heavy box she had brought in on it, and started sorting out the documents and photos. She could feel people staring at her back. The benches on both sides of the room were full of spectators today.

There had been many trials these last months. Both sides had become more ruthless the in the last years of the war. Aurors had killed more than they had captured, and suspected allies of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that _had_ been brought in alive had been sent straight to Azkaban without trial. Brutal methods might have yielded results, but it hadn’t sat right with Amelia. It had been as if they were starting to sink to the enemy’s level. Now that the war was finally over, she had been one of the loudest voices for giving prisoners a fair trial. Their guilt seemed clear in most cases, but it was only fair to give them a chance to defend themselves, and prevent any miscarriage of justice. Looking up at the plum-coloured assembly of the Wizengamot, she noticed Bartemius Crouch’s scowl. Her constant insistence on these retrials had not made her popular with her department-leader these last months. Amelia stared back at him until he turned away.

When the door opened, it was like a sudden chill swept into the room and silenced all the voices. Two dementors flanked Sirius Black as he walked into the courtroom. They led him to the chair in the middle of the room, where chains sprung to life as he sat down, wrapping around his arms. There was a sigh of relief when the dementors left. As the door closed behind the creatures, everyone’s attention turned to the man in the chair.

Bartemius Crouch rose slowly from his seat. “You are Sirius Orion Black?”

Black lifted his head. “Yes.” He looked weary and drained, but the hands that gripped the chair had a tense, nervous energy to them. He had been locked up in Azkaban for half a year, and if they found him guilty, he’d spend the rest of his life there.

“You stand accused of thirteen counts of murder carried out November 1st 1981\. You are also accused of spying and feeding information to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, information that aided him and his followers in committing more crimes, among them the murders of Lily and James Potter, on October 31st 1981\. How do you plead?”

“N-not guilty.”

A wave of whisperings rippled through the room. The tragedy at Great Tower Street had seemed an open-and-shut-case in November, so this denial came as a surprise to some. Perhaps they had expected him to proudly proclaim his undying loyalty to You-Know-Who, like his cousin had done in her trial a couple of months ago. Amelia noticed a chubby little woman on one of the benches, clutching a golden medal to her chest. Her eyes were full of angry tears. Mrs. Pettigrew, here to witness the trial of the man who murdered her son. Amelia looked away.

Crouch sat back down, and began calling in witnesses.

* * *

Auror Lucas Deverill painted a disturbing scene when recounting what he had seen that November day. “The middle of the street was blown apart. None of the corpses had been removed yet; the muggles gathering were focusing on helping the survivors. Black was on his knees by the gaping hole in the ground. He was laughing like a madman, and didn’t react when we approached him. He did not make any attempt to escape, just continued to laugh while we confiscated his wand and arrested him.”

Amelia rose from her chair. Of the cases brought up for trial since the war ended, the Black-case had been sent around the Department of Magical Law Enforcement till it ended up on her table. Everyone had a right to legal counsel, but none of her colleagues wanted to defend Sirius Black. The man had been in involved in one of the last, most gruesome (and most publicized) cases of murders, and his guilt seemed clear. At best it would be a waste of time to defend him, at worst, bad publicity. But the man had the right to legal counsel, so Amelia had steeled herself and travelled to Azkaban to talk to him. It had been the first of some very interesting meetings.

Amelia turned to Deverill. “What was your impression of Mr. Black at the time?”

“In my opinion, it seemed like Black had had some sort of mental breakdown.” Deverill stood straight and spoke clearly. “We transported him to Azkaban and delivered him to the Dementors. We were informed later that he kept on laughing till he started crying, and the rest of the night he tossed back and forth in the cell, mumbling.”

“What did he say?”

“He kept repeating ‘it’s all my fault’.”

Amelia could hear some the spectators mumbling behind her. Other aurors present at the arrest were called in. She questioned them all, and they all told the same story.

* * *

All of the bystanders to the confrontation at Great Tower Street had been muggles. Those who lived to tell the tale had been questioned before having their memories wiped. Instead Auror Noel read their testimonies to the Wizengamot.

It was all variations of the same events. The witnesses had seen Black and Pettigrew meet, they had heard Pettigrew accuse Black of betraying Lily and James Potter, and they had felt the explosion that tore up the street. With so many differing voices all telling the same tale, it seemed like certain truth.

Amelia couldn’t question people that weren’t present, and wouldn’t remember the events if they were. When he was finished, Auror Noel folded up the documents. Crouch thanked him, and called the next witness.

* * *

“The Wizengamot calls Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore had been present at every trial the last months. He had been the leader of the resistance, the one man You-Know-Who feared, tirelessly working to stop the dark wizard’s rise to power. Thus he had been involved in, or knew of, almost every step the enemy had taken, and what countermeasures had been set in motion.

Dumbledore began explaining the events leading up to the tragedy at Godric’s Hollow. “In the last years of the war, one of my informants told me that Voldemort wanted the Potter-family dead. Not long after, James and Lily went into hiding with their son Harry, but Voldemort’s followers searched tirelessly for them. It was decided that the Fidelius Charm would be the best way to keep them safe.” Dumbledore sighed. “I offered to be Secret Keeper myself, but James preferred to choose one of their close friends.”

James Potter had trusted his friends, and it had been his downfall. If the Potters _had_ chosen Dumbledore as their Secret Keeper, they might still have been alive today. But Amelia couldn’t waste time pondering what might have been. Her job was to make clear what _had_ happened.

“Did James Potter tell you which friend he intended to be the Secret Keeper?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore nodded towards the accused in the chair. “He counted on Sirius Black.”

“… And did you see them cast the spell?”

“No. The spell would have been cast with no other witnesses than the Secret Keeper and that which they intended to keep secret, in this case, the Potter-family and their home.”

Amelia took a deep breath. “So there are no actual witnesses that _saw_ the spell being cast?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer straight away. He seemed contemplative, as if he had noticed a piece of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit in with the others. “No,” he answered at last.

“You only have James Potters words, his _plan_ to have Mr. Black be the Secret Keeper, and nothing else?”

“That is entirely correct, Madam Bones.”

“So it was possible for the Potters to change their minds, and pick someone else, without anyone knowing?”

Dumbledore peered at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “That is true.”

“Thank you, Sir, I have no further questions.”

As they both sat down, there were more mutterings in the courtroom. A tiny hole had opened up in what everyone had viewed as certain facts. Tiny, perhaps unimportant, but it was there.

* * *

“The Wizengamot calls Rubeus Hagrid.”

When the large man rose from his seat, he blocked the view for most of the people sitting behind him. He almost seemed a bit out of place in the courtroom, his moleskin overcoat and wild hair contrasting with the serious, well-dressed members of the Wizengamot. Amelia began her questioning.

“You arrived at Godric’s Hollow the night of October 31st 1981, is that correct, Mr. Hagrid?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Can you describe what happened?”

“Was awful.” The large man’s eyes filled with tears. “Got me orders from Dumbledore ter go there an’ pick up Harry, after – after what happened. Came ter their cottage an’ when I stepped inside, I saw -” He swallowed, but continued. “James Potter was lyin’ by the door, dead. Tried to fight, probably, a real brave man, James was.”

Black sagged forwards in the chair, the dark hair hiding his face. His shoulders shook, but he didn’t make any sounds as Hagrid continued his tale.

“Couldn’ do nothin’ for him, so I continued on. Heard crying comin’ from upstairs. The nursery had been blown to bits, half the roof gone. Lily – such a great girl, smart an’ kind an’ jus’ – full o’ life she was. She was in the rubble on the floor, in front o’ the cot. Dead, same as James. Harry was sittin’ in the cot, cryin’.” Hagrid started crying as well, he got out a huge handkerchief and blew his nose. It sounded like an elephant trumpeting. “Poor little thing! Ma an’ da dead, an’ I – I think he sorta understood it, somehow? Even if he only was a year old. Lily had probably tried ter shield him from that – that-” More tears ran down his face and disappeared in his bushy beard.

“You found Harry Potter. What happened then?”

“Took him up. As I walked towards the front door, I heard sounds o’ a motorbike. That’s when _he_ turned up.” He pointed a large finger at Black.

Amelia nodded. “Mr. Black turned up. What did he do?”

“He jumped o’ the bike and ran ter the front door. Pale as a ghost, he was. He recognized me; ‘Hagrid, what’s happened?’ he yelled. When I told him they were dead, he ran past me into the house. Nearly stumbled over James lyin’ there on the floor, an’ then he stopped an’ sat there jus’ shaking. Knew James had been his best friend, so I didn’ bother him, I locked the door an’ walked out in the garden an’ tried to calm down Harry.” Hagrid glared at Black. “O’ course, now I know it wasn’ _them_ he was all upset over.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, when he opened the door and got out, he was cryin’, and I – I tried to _comfort_ that DAMNED TRAITOR!” Several people jumped in their seats by the sudden roar. “He- he had been like their _family_ , I thought he cried fer _them!_ If I had known back then that _he_ was the one who gave them up ter You-Know-Who, _why I would have-”_

Amelia interrupted the beginning rant. “Please, calm down, Mr. Hagrid.”

Hagrid took a deep breath. For a moment it had seemed like the only thing preventing him from jumping down and punching Black’s head right off his shoulders in a righteous rage, was the fact that everyone’s eyes were upon them.

“Sorry, it - it’s jus’ awful.”

Amelia nodded. “Yes, if you would continue?”

“Yes, o‘ course. Then Black suddenly said ‘Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I’m his godfather, I’ll look after him.’ He held out his arms ter take the kid, and Harry seemed ter recognize him, reached for him, even. I told him no. Black argued; he said ‘James an’ Lily wanted _me_ ter take care o’ him.’ I refused. Said I’d had orders from Dumbledore that Harry was ter go ter his aunt an’ uncle’s. Black didn’ like that much, but I was firm! An’ good thing I was! Black let it go in the end; he patted Harry’s head an’ said he was sorry. _Sorry!_ FER GETTING HIS PARENTS KILLED!”

The last words echoed in the room. Amelia let the sound die down before she returned to the questioning: “So Mr. Black wanted to take Harry Potter?”

“Yes! Probably ter finish the job! Get rid o’ the whole family, his own _godson_ -”

Again, Amelia had to cut him off. She couldn’t let them get side-tracked from the facts. “Please, focus on what actually happened, Mr. Hagrid. Mr. Black asked you to give him the boy, when you refused, _did he threaten you?_ ”

Hagrid seemed slightly baffled by this question. “Threaten?”

“Yes. Or did he get violent; did he try to take the child by force?”

“Wha- no. He argued. He was agitated, but he never got his wand out.”

“So Mr. Black never attacked you.” The man standing before Amelia was about twice Black’s height and three times as wide. Perhaps in a muggle court, the idea of anyone trying to overpower him would have been laughable. With a wand, it could have been possible, but Hagrid shook his head. “No, he didn’.”

“He _let_ you leave?”

“He didn’ try ter stop me. He told me I could take his motorbike ter take Harry away. Said he wouldn’ need the bike anymore. Last I saw him, he was sittin’ on the garden bench with his head in his hands.”

“So this man,” Amelia indicated to Black, “supposedly betrays his close friends, letting them die, but then, when there’s only one person between him and finishing the job … he doesn’t threaten or attack Mr. Hagrid. He argues, but when Mr. Hagrid refuses, Mr. Black accepts this and lets them leave.”

The room was quiet, and Amelia continued, hammering the point home. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Supposedly, he went from this meeting to kill a dozen people, what would two more had mattered? Why did he let them go, unharmed?”

Hagrid looked down at Black. He seemed confused. “I – I don’ know why.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hagrid. I have no more questions.” Amelia gave him a small smile. Crouch had no further questions to ask either, and Hagrid sat back down, still seemingly pondering over this line of questioning.

* * *

“The Wizengamot calls Auror Elizabeth Hawkworth.”

Hawkworth strode into the room carrying a box in one of her maimed hands. She conjured up a small table, placed the box on it, and tapped it with her wand. It opened to reveal several photographs. Crouch stared down at her.

“Auror Hawkworth, present your evidence.”

Hawkworth picked up one of the photographs with her two remaining left fingers. “Photographs 1 through 10, taken at Great Tower Street, November 1st. As you can see-” with a flick of her wand Hawkworth made all but two of the photographs fly up so the Wizengamot could see them, “they document the damage at Great Tower Street, and the twelve bodies.”

Black and white could not truly capture the bloodshed that had covered the street, but the bodies were clearly visible. Some of unfortunate ones that had been closest to the explosion had been ripped apart, a shoe lay by itself; the foot inside it severed at the ankle. A child pulled on a woman that was either unconscious or dead, trying to get her to move. A gaping hole opened up in the middle of the street, down to the sewers.

“Great Tower Street, the place Black was arrested, is located near the middle of London. Due to the place suffering a great deal of damage, and the numerous injuries to the muggles present, including twelve dead, it was not possible to simply repair the street to and wipe the muggles memories. The Ministry instead chose to cover up the magical damage by planting the explanation of a ‘gas leak’.”

Amelia rose. “Auror Hawkworth, what did the investigation conclude caused these damages?”

“A blasting curse. Very powerful.”

Amelia nodded, and let Hawkworth continue. The auror’s wand swept through the air, and the photographs returned to their place in the box. She made the remaining two fly out and slowly glide around the room.

“Photographs 11 and 12, taken at Great Tower Street, November 1st, and in my office November 2nd. These photographs shows a finger found near the centre of the hole created by the explosion. It did not fit any of the muggle victims, and is so assumed to belong to the wizard Peter Pettigrew. The rest of Pettigrew’s body was never found.”

“What conclusions were drawn when no body was found?”

“The investigation concluded that Pettigrew was at the very centre of the explosion. That he might have been the intended target, and the surrounding damage was due to the blasting spell being strong enough to cause severe damage to the surroundings and the muggles nearby.”

Amelia could see Black biting his lip as if he was physically holding back whatever he wanted to say. She caught his eyes, and shook her head slightly. It wouldn’t do any good to interrupt, he had to try and remain calm. Black leaned back in the chair, clearly frustrated, but didn’t say anything as Amelia continued with her questioning.

“Without locating a body, is it not possible that Pettigrew might simply have escaped with only an injury to his hand?”

People whispered to each other as Hawkworth considered the question. “Are you suggesting he Disapparated, Madam Bones?”

“Disapparated, or escaped by some other means.” Amelia avoided looking towards the spot where Mrs. Pettigrew was seated, but she thought she heard an outraged little noise from that direction. Hawkworth didn’t answer her immediately. One of the photographs hovered near her, and she plucked it out of the air and studied it. She looked back at Amelia. “It is possible.”

“But if that was the case, where is he?” Crouch interrupted. “No one has seen anything of Peter Pettigrew since the confrontation at Great Tower Street. _If_ he survived, where is he?” His tone left no doubt he considered the possibility absurd.

Black didn’t say anything, but his fingers were tightening on the armrests of the chair he was bound to. Amelia thanked Hawkworth for her time, and the auror left. Crouch declared that the court would take a break before continuing with the witnesses for the defence.

Some people left, to take some air or get a bite to eat, but most stayed. They weren’t eager to give up their seats and risk missing the rest of the trial. Several journalists were scribbling down notes, and at least one person seemed to be making a sketch of Black. The chains still held him to the chair, and two aurors stayed close by. Amelia suspected that the court room would have been significantly less full if they had decided to call the dementors back in to guard him.

Black was slowly looking around the court room. Some turned away from his gaze, others openly gawked at him. He turned towards Amelia, and she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Hopefully, she had managed to lay some groundwork for the Wizengamot to accept what she would present after the break.

Black craned his neck a bit, and she knew he was looking past her, searching for someone in particular. Lupin had taken one of the seats further away, close to the wall, staying in the shadows until he had to witness. Amelia could clearly see the moment Black spotted him; those tired, haunted eyes grew softer.

Looking away from Black, she noticed that Dumbledore seemed to be studying her. For a moment, Amelia felt like she was back at Hogwarts, when he had been her transfiguration teacher. As if he was asking her to show him what she could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has two thumbs and is willing to dig into the little we see of the Wizarding World Justice System, research Muggle trials, smash it together and attempt to make it work? This gal!
> 
> I have wanted to write this for a while. I ended up using Amelia Bones as the POV character as well as the person investigating the case and defending Sirius. What we know about her is that she was a serious, but fair person. She became Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at some point before 1995, so I imagined that in 1982, she was working in the department under Crouch.


	2. Chapter 2

After a while, the few that had left the courtroom started coming back. Amelia idly stroked the box on her table while she looked over the papers for the third time. She had spent the previous questioning trying to make cracks in the seemingly solid wall of circumstantial evidence, and hopefully … build enough doubt that the Wizengamot would be open to alternative answers.

Most of the wizarding world seemed to believe the trial to be nothing more than a formality. The intense interest had more to do with the gruesome crime than any suspense about the verdict. Amelia had thought the same when she had first stepped foot in Azkaban. But even the most heinous criminal deserved a fair trial, and she had decided to give Black just that. The story he had told her sounded unbelievable at first. But as she started to dig past what had seemed so obvious, bit by bit, a new picture appeared. 

As the crowd started to quiet down, Amelia could feel Black staring at her. If she was nervous, he had it much worse. For her, losing this case might set her career back, but for him, it meant a life behind bars. She couldn’t let him down. She met his eyes and smiled with more confidence than she really had, and stood up. 

“The Wizengamot will now hear the testimony of the accused, Sirius Orion Black.”

Unlike the previous people telling their story, Black did not rise. The chains on the chair stayed shackled around his arms. Amelia had moved her table closer so he could easily focus on her and her questions.

“Mr. Black, did James Potter ask you to be their Secret Keeper?”

Black sat rigid in the chair, shoulder’s tense and fingers digging into the armrests. He took a deep breath before starting to speak. “Yes. But I told him it was best to use someone else.”

“Why?”

“It was too obvious. James -” There was a flash of pain in the tired eyes. “James was like my brother, too many people knew – they could figure out, so I – I told them – I suggested – they use a different friend.”

“So you were never the Potter’s Secret Keeper.”

“Never.”

Someone in the crowd mumbled something. Amelia ignored it. “Do you know who they choose instead?”

“Yes. I advised them to – to …” Black sighed. “… I advised them to choose Peter Pettigrew.”

There were some sounds from the bench where Mrs. Pettigrew was seated. From the corner of her eye, Amelia could see how the little woman had risen from her place. Thankfully the witch seated next to her took her hand and tried to calm her down. Black continued: “We asked Peter to do it, and he agreed. Only he, James, Lily and I would know about the switch, everyone else would think it was me. A bluff. I thought- I thought it was a good plan.”

“Can you tell the Wizengamot what happened October 31st 1981?”

“We had agreed Peter would go into hiding. That night, I went to check if he was still alright. But he wasn’t at his hiding spot. I got worried something had happened, so hurried to Godric’s Hollow, and they were- they-” Black closed his eyes. The months since the tragedy had done little to ease the grief, instead the wounds had been torn open again and again during his stay at Azkaban.

“You came to Godric’s Hollow. What did you find?”

“Their cottage was – it was ruined. J-James was – on the floor – and Lily – all I could think was – it was my fault. My fault they were dead.”

Those were the words he had kept repeating the first nights in Azkaban. Amelia had heard them several times during her visits. “How was it _your_ fault?”

“The Fidelius Charm was supposed to keep them _safe_ , the only way You-Know-Who could have found them was if the Secret Keeper revealed that secret. We knew someone was leaking information, but we didn’t know who. They only made Peter their Secret Keeper because _I_ told them to. It was _my_ idea and then he- he-”

There was mumbling from the audience. Peter Pettigrew had been posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin for his heroic confrontation with Black. There had been dozens articles, interviews with his grieving mother, his name would be among the many fallen on planned memorial monuments. The crowd didn’t seem to appreciate this attempt to throw suspicion on the tragic young hero.

“Mr. Black, you came to their cottage and found your friends dead. What did you do then?”

“Hagrid was there, he had gotten Harry out. James and Lily had made me his guardian, in case-“ Black struggled for a moment, before continuing, “but Hagrid refused to give him to me. I can’t remember all I said, but in the end I told Hagrid to take my bike and go. I sat there, and tried to figure out what to do. I had failed to protect James and Lily, I couldn’t protect their son. The least I could do was to make sure the ones responsible paid for it.” Underneath the grief in his voice, there was still hatred burning. “So I went looking for Peter.”

For a moment, Amelia could almost see the menacing killer everyone had painted Black as.

“That night I started searching every place I thought he might be hiding. I finally caught up with him at Great Tower Street in London.”

“And what happened at Great Tower Street?”

“I was angry, screamed at him to stop and face me, didn’t think about all the muggles around us that could see. He turned, had his wand behind his back. When he started yelling about how _I_ ‘had betrayed Lily and James’, I didn’t understand.” Black sighed. “Then the street exploded. People started screaming. When the smoke disappeared I was staring down massive hole, and Peter was gone. I noticed a bloody finger on the ground. I think he might have cut it off before he blew up the street with the wand he had behind his back-”

“HOW _DARE_ YOU!?” A sharp voice rang through the room. Mrs. Pettigrew had risen from her seat. “My boy – you _killed_ my boy and now you want to – t-to blame him for what _you did!?_ How _dare_ you tell sh- such- ridiculous lies to save your sorry skin! YOU HEARTLESS-”

“Please, Mrs. Pettigrew-” Amelia tried to cut her off, but the woman shouted over her.

“My boy was a hero! _A HERO!!_ ” The grief-stricken little woman clutched the large golden medal to her chest. Some of the people next to her tried to calm her down, but this time she shoved them away and turned towards the members of the Wizengamot. “And you! How can you just s-sit there and l-listen to this – this _murderer_ slander a man that can no longer defend himself!”

“Silence!” Crouch shouted, but Mrs. Pettigrew did not listen, continuing to scream at Black.

“You were his _friend!!_ He th-thought the world of- e had you in our _home!!_ H-how _dare_ you- ”

Two aurors reached her seat and began escorting her out. Mrs. Pettigrew kept yelling, tears now streaming down her face. “-be _decent_ a-and admit-” When the door shut behind them, the last scream of ‘MURDERER!!’ echoed around the room.

Black was staring at the floor. When whispers started to break the heavy silence, they did not sound amiable. Most of the spectators had been against him from the start, and Mrs. Pettigrew’s outburst of grief and righteous anger did not help. Amelia swallowed. She had to keep going.

“Mr. Black, if you would continue your explanation?”

“uh – uhm -”

Black was clearly shaken by the outburst. Chained to the chair, he hadn’t been able to turn around enough to see what was happening behind him, and had probably not even known Mrs. Pettigrew had been present. Amelia reminded him of where he had left off. “You said you found Pettigrew’s finger.”

“Y-yes. That’s all that was left, he had escaped. There were people screaming, bleeding, there were – corpses, torn apart and I – I suddenly realized – no one but me knew what had really happened.” He swallowed. “My friends were _dead_ , and everyone was going to think I did it. The one person who knew the truth besides me had transformed and gotten away. I – I think I just lost it.

Black didn’t have much more to say about that day. He had had a complete breakdown. Understandable, considering the circumstances, but it had helped cement the public’s image of him as a murderous lunatic.

It was quiet for a while. Plump, red-faced Albert Tuft wiped his glasses on his Wizengamot robes, and broke the silence. “Mr. Black, you said Pettigrew … transformed?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Black hesitated a little. “He transformed into a rat. He-” A sudden laughter came from somewhere in audience, once again interrupting him.

“Silence!” Crouch’s voice boomed through the room, and whoever it was shut their mouth. Amelia nodded towards Black. “Please continue.”

“Peter Pettigrew is an Animagus.” There were some sounds of disbelief, but thankfully, no more laughter, as Black continued his explanation. “The three of us, him, James and me, we managed to complete the process during our school years, in secret. If you let me out of this chair, I can prove it to you.”

A sense of unease spread through the room. Neither the members of the Wizengamot, nor the spectators seemed too keen on letting an accused murderer move freely among them. Old Griselda Marchbanks gave Black a stern look. “It is illegal to attempt Animagi without informing the Animagus Registry. Why would three children attempt such a thing?”

“We were clever and arrogant and wanted to try it.” Black sighed. “It was a secret, forbidden project, we were young, we felt invincible, I – I don’t have any better excuse.”

That was a lie, and Amelia knew it. It wasn’t good form, letting him mislead the Wizengamot, but Black had _begged_ her to not expose the true reason why they had become Animagi. They were passing off an act of incredibly kindness; to keep their friend company through horrible, painful transformations, as nothing more than some rebellious schoolboy’s whims. It wasn’t right to lie to the Wizengamot, but it hadn’t seemed right to ruin Lupin’s life by exposing his lycanthropy either. So Amelia had eventually gone along with it. She only hoped that no one found out.

Black’s claims about being an Animagus could easily be disproven, and so the Wizengamot agreed to let him out of the chair. The two dementors were called back in case he tried anything, bringing with them a feeling of hopelessness. They stayed close by as the chains released Black. Amelia could feel traces of doubt starting to sneak into her mind; how could they possibly succeed? The faces that stared down were hostile, unforgiving, not willing to listen … 

Black shivered a bit as he turned away from the creatures and faced the Wizengamot. He took a deep breath, seemingly trying to block them out … then, in a fluid motion, he fell forwards and when he reached the floor he was standing on all fours as large, black dog.

There were gasps and shrieks from an audience that clearly hadn’t believed his claims. The dog was thin and the fur looked brittle and rough. He turned around, and started walking towards Amelia before the dementors rushed forward to block him. The dog stopped, and retreated towards the chair, whining. Amelia remembered how Black had told her about to slipping into dog-form in the cell to try and cope with the creatures.

Crouch’s voice cut through the increasing chatter in the room. “We’ve seen enough.”

Black hesitated slightly before changing back to human form. He sat back down, and the chains wrapped around his arms once again. He breathed a sigh of relief once the dementors left the room. He wasn’t the only one. Amelia could feel some of the hope their presence had tried to drain from her start to return. “Thank you for the demonstration, Mr. Black.”

Crouch coughed. “All this shows is that the accused is an Animagus. It does not prove that Pettigrew was. The only thing this demonstrations shows is that one more offence should be added to Mr. Black’s list of crimes.”

Amelia turned towards him. “Actually, Mr. Crouch, we have a witness that can confirm the claims about Pettigrew being an Animagus. Is there anything else the Wizengamot would like to ask Mr. Black before we call this witness to confirm his claims?”

Crouch frowned. “Yes, Madam Bones, there are a few more questions …”

‘A few more questions’ turned into half an hour, as Crouch tried to pick apart Black’s story. What proof was there that the Potter’s actually _had_ made Pettigrew their Secret Keeper? How had Black managed to show up so early to the scene of the crime? Why did he go after Pettigrew on his own without involving the authorities? He didn’t manage expose any contradictions, but the Wizengamot seemed unconvinced that Black was telling the truth.

Finally, they let Amelia call her next witness.

* * *

“The Wizengamot calls Remus John Lupin.”

Lupin did not look well as he moved to the front of the benches. Long sleeves and a too-thick scarf were hiding fresh bandages and new wounds. Amelia had tried to move the trial date when she noticed how close it was to the full moon, but that had fallen on deaf ears. She started her questioning: “How do you know Sirius Orion Black?”

“We were in the same house and year at Hogwarts. Together with James Potter and Peter Pettigrew we were a … a close-knit friend-group. After school I shared a flat in London with Si- Mr. Black between 1978 and 1981.”

The young man seemed to feel uneasy with everyone in the room staring at him, but he kept his eyes only on Amelia and answered the questions clearly. Lupin was the one person in the room she _knew_ was on their side, working to get Black acquitted.

“Can you confirm Mr. Black’s claims that both James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were Animagi?”

“Yes.” Lupin nodded. “They completed the transformation in our fifth year.”

“Apart from you and your three friends, did anyone else know about this?”

“Despite being irresponsible teenagers, they didn’t go around _bragging_ about breaking the law.” Lupin’s voice had a sad tone of nostalgia to it. “Once Lily got engaged to James, he let her in on the secret.”

“What did you think when Mr. Black was arrested?”

“I … didn’t want to believe it.” Lupin shook his head. “At first, I thought it- it was impossible. James was like a brother to him, the thought that he would harm anyone of the Potter-family seemed absurd. Then all the news kept writing about the case and all the witnesses, it seemed to be true, no matter how much I’d wished it wasn’t. That changed in February, when you, Madam Bones, got in contact with me while working on the case.”

Lupin had been a shell of a man the first time Amelia had met him. He had moved flats several times, unable to hold down a job, and barely had enough to eat … but most of all he was lost in grief, unable to move forward. His feelings about Black had been a painful and complicated mess. They had been together since school, but the strain and paranoia of the war had eventually torn their relationship apart. It was clear that Lupin had loved Black deeply, but in February he would not admit if any part of that lingered. After the tragedies at Godric’s Hollow and Great Tower Street, Black was a seemingly a murderous traitor responsible for the deaths of their friends.

After several months of this painful reality, he didn’t believe Amelia at first, afraid to open up for hope. But once he did believe, he did everything she asked to help Black’s case. This included moving back to his parents that had been worried sick he might hurt himself, and get well enough to witness. 

“You told me that you had talked to him. What he had said and what your investigation had turned up. I- I have known Sirius Black for _years_ , and his story … made more sense than the tale that was circulating in the press..”

“So you believe him?”

Lupin looked at Black, and nodded. “Yes, I do.”

Amelia took up a folder from her stack of documents. “Mr. Lupin provided me with several photographs to back up the Animagi-claims.” She made the photos fly up to the Wizengamot.

Some of the photographs had wrinkles or lines from folding; others were slightly bleached after years standing in the sun somewhere. They all showed animals. A young Black trying to ride on a stag and falling off, laughing. The same stag with a rat climbing on its antlers. A young James Potter sea-setting some miniature boat with the rat on it. A young Lupin sleeping on the floor of some house, using a large black dog as a pillow. The dog and the stag chasing each other across a field.

“Can you explain what these photographs depict?”

“These were their Animagus-forms.” Lupin nodded to Black. “As he previously demonstrated, Sirius is the dog. Peter is the rat, and James was the stag.”

Crouch snapped one photograph that hovered close to him and studied it. “None of these show the actual transformation.”

Lupin turned towards Crouch. “As I said, they were teenagers breaking the law, so we never took any photos of the change.”

“So these _could_ be photos of some well-behaved pets.”

That was almost word for word what Lupin had told Amelia when he gave her the photos. If anyone found the images, the boys had agreed to use that excuse. Now that the Animagi-claims _needed_ to be proved, it got turned back on them. Lupin frowned. “That is _not_ the case; these _are_ photos of their Animagus-forms.”

Crouch let go of the photograph, and began his own questioning, this time without even asking Amelia if she was finished. He seemed stressed, irritated to even be part of this. The last months had not been kind to him; the scandal of his son’s arrest had torn his family apart, and if the rumours were true, Mrs. Crouch was so sick with grief she hadn’t been seen in public since their son’s trial.

Amelia did not call the photographs back to the folder; instead she let them continue to slowly glide. Several people, among them Dumbledore, caught one and studied it before they released them again. The memories of better times flew around the room as Crouch questioned Lupin.

“If all your close friends supposedly became Animagi, why didn’t you, Mr. Lupin?”

“I tried, but I failed. It is a difficult process, and Transfiguration wasn’t my best subject.”

Amelia noticed how Dumbledore was looking at Lupin. The headmaster knew the real reason; he had made precautions for the young man to be able to attend Hogwarts despite his lycanthropy. But, like Amelia and Black had done, he kept it to himself.

“You were flat-mates with Mr. Black in 1981. So you lived together when the attacks on Godric’s Hollow and Great Tower Street happened?”

“No, I moved out in June that year.”

“Why?”

Lupin hesitated a little, then: “… we broke up.”

“You were lovers?”

There wasn’t really any other way to interpret Lupin’s words, but Crouch still insisted on him spelling it out for the crowd.

“… yes.”

Crouch didn’t ask any more questions, so the answer hung in the air till the spectators started to whisper. Amelia raised her voice: “Mr. Crouch, do you have any more questions for the witness?”

Crouch looked over at Amelia before turning back to Lupin. “Mr. Lupin, what can you tell us about the attacks on Godric’s Hollow and Great Tower Street?”

“Not much. I was in North-England at the time of the attacks, and didn’t learn about them until afterwards, like the rest of the country.”

“Very well, then I have no more questions.” He paused, before turning to his fellow members of the Wizengamot. “But I feel the need to point out that Mr. Lupin’s intimate relationship with Mr. Black might make him a slightly … biased witness in the case.”

Lupin stared at Crouch. Red spots appeared on his cheeks, but he didn’t say anything.

Crouch continued: “Call your next witness, Madam Bones.”

Amelia called back the photographs from where they had wandered over the room. She gave Lupin an encouraging nod as he headed back to his seat.

* * *

“The Wizengamot again calls Auror Elizabeth Hawkworth.”

Hawkworth returned to the room with another box of physical evidence. When the box opened, there was a wand lying among the new photographs. She took the wand and held it up for all to see.

“This wand was taken from Black when he was arrested. It has been confirmed that it is the blackthorn and dragon-heartstring-wand belonging to Black. During the investigation, we have examined it with several spells. The use of the reverse spell showed that Black’s wand did not produce any blasting curses that could have destroyed Great Tower Street and killed the thirteen victims.”

There was some muttering among the members of the Wizengamot before Crouch spoke up. “It is entirely possible for him to have used a different wand than his own.”

“That is a possibility.”

Black stared at his wand while Hawkworth placed it back in the box, with some sort of hunger in his eyes. The loss of a wand left you nearly as helpless as a muggle; unable to perform any of the magic of daily life, and woefully unprotected. Black hadn’t seen his wand since he was arrested; Amalie could understand how badly he wanted it back.

Hawkworth made more photographs fly around the room. “During our dealings with Death Eaters these past years, we have discovered that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s followers carry his Mark, the same Mark they placed in the sky when they had committed their heinous crimes.”

One of the photographs hovered near Amelia. She had seen it before. Antonin Dolohov glared at her, pulling on his chains as someone held his left arm steady for the camera. The Dark Mark was clearly visible. The photographs kept slowly circling as Hawkworth moved over to Black. When she tapped the chains around his left arm, they moved away.

“Mr. Black, give me your arm.”

Black couldn’t move much with the rest of the chains still in place, but he lifted his arm from the chair. Hawkworth pushed the sleeve of Black’s shirt up, and stepped to the side so they could see the pale, unmarked skin.

“As the Wizengamot can observe, Black does not possess the Dark Mark-”

Crouch interrupted her. “Of course not! He was a spy! Why would You-Know-Who brand a _spy_ with a Mark that could lead to his discovery!?”

“I’m not here to speculate, I’m just presenting evidence. But every Death Eater I have examined has had this Mark.”

Hawkworth rolled down the sleeve on Black’s shirt and put the chains back as they were before she retrieved the physical evidence. Once again, Amelie thanked her for her time, and the auror left the room.

* * *

Looking at the Wizengamot, Amelia wasn’t at all sure what they believed. Black’s story had sounded wild and far-fetched the first time she had heard it too. It had taken several meetings and eventually the use of Veritaserum before she believed him. This was the first time the Wizengamot heard it, and she needed to make them believe it _now_ , without such aid.

Veritaserum had not been used in trials since 1921, after the trial of a Madam Elizabeth Flint. She had been on trial for cursing her muggle neighbours, but under influence of Veritaserum, she had accidentally admitted to be carrying on an affair with the then current Minister of Magic, Archer Evermonde. Evermonde’s marriage ended soon after, and one of his last decisions in office was to forbid the use of truth potions as an ‘unfair and unreliable to use at a trial’. So Amelia had had to figure out a different way to show the Wizengamot, and hope it worked.

“We will now present our final piece of evidence.”

She tapped the box that had taken up space on her table throughout the whole trial. It opened to reveal a shallow stone basin, with carved runes and other symbols. Slowly, she carried it over to the small table Hawkworth had conjured up and left behind. The basin was empty, but still, it felt heavy. When Amelia turned to the Wizengamot, most of them looked puzzled. Only a few people in room, among them Dumbledore, seemed to recognise the item she had brought.

“This is a Pensieve. A witch or wizard can extract their memories and place them in this,” Amelia gestured to the empty basin, “thereby allowing other people to witness those memories.”

“This is quite unusual, Madam Bones.”

“Perhaps. Still, I hope the Wizengamot will keep an open mind to this new form of evidence. Mr. Black has agreed to let his memories be extracted for this purpose.”

Amelia had dug back through hundreds of trial records, but hadn’t found any reference to memories being used as evidence. The use of pensieves weren’t common knowledge to the average witch or wizard. She had barely managed to get hold of one. During the months she prepared for the trial, she sent more and more desperate requests within the Ministry and other institutions that might be able to lend her a pensieve.

A week before the trial Amelia had almost given up when one of her late brother Edgar’s old friends, Broderick Bode, had come to her rescue. Bode had recently been started working in the Department of Mysteries, and could procure a pensieve for her use. As an Unspeakable he couldn’t tell her what his department used them for, but Amelia did not care. All that mattered was that she had one.

Some of the members of the Wizengamot mumbled. Little Belinda Brocklehurst, one of the few that seemed familiar with this kind of magic, piped up: “Memories can be tampered with.”

“True. That is why I’m going to extract them in full view of the Wizengamot.”

There were no more objections. Crouch gave her a short nod. “Go ahead, Madam Bones.”

“Thank you.” Amelia drew her wand, and dimmed the lights of the courtroom, before turning to Black. He closed his eyes as she approached him. They hadn’t had any opportunity for him to actually _practice_ this, but she had explained how he needed to focus on the specific memories she was going to extract. She placed the tip of her wand at his temple, and when she slowly drew it away, a slivery thread clung to it.

Amelia placed the thread in the basin, where it filled it like a cloudy, silvery liquid. It glowed in the half-dark room. Twice more she extracted memories and carefully dropped them in. She took hold of the pensieve and slowly swirled the memories around. Finally, three people rose from the basin like small, silvery ghosts. Sirius Black, James and Lily Potter. When the memory of Black began speaking, his voice echoed as if it came from the bottom of the pensieve.

_‘I shouldn’t be Secret Keeper.’_

James Potter placed a hand on his shoulder. _‘There’s no one I trust more-‘_

_‘It’s too obvious. They’ll come after me.’_

_‘Sirius …’_ Lily Potter’s face was filled with concern, but Black smiled at her.

_‘I’m not afraid, I can handle it. But I got a better plan.’_

_‘Really?’_

Black looked around, before lowering his voice. The conversation had taken place in privacy the first time, now an entire room was listening to them. This Sirius Black of the past did not see that. _‘Peter would be the best Secret Keeper.’_

_‘What?’_

_‘Don’t you see?’_ Black grinned. _‘We’ve been friends for ages, but others forget about Pete. They underestimate him! He’s got the perfect disguise for staying hidden; the Death Eaters can’t search every rat hole in Britain!’_

James Potter did not seem convinced. _‘But what if –‘_

_‘We’ll let people think you’re using me. I can lead them away from the real Secret Keeper. No one but the four of us will know they’re hunting the wrong man.’_

_‘… they_ _might kill you.’_

_‘I’m not afraid. I – I want to keep you safe.’_

Lily Potter embraced Black, dragging her husband into the hug. The three of them stood there for a while. Standing closely by, Amelia could see some small silvery tears run down Lily Potter’s face.

_‘Do you think Peter will do it?’_

_‘We’ll talk to him. I’m sure we can convince him.’_

The scene changed. The silvery shape of Lily Potter shifted into that of a short man, nervously wringing his hands. Amelia recognized him from photos Lupin had shown her, and the articles that commended his bravery when he was posthumously awarded the Merlin Order. Peter Pettigrew.

_‘But are you sure?’_

The memory of Black seemed agitated and stressed as he paced around, gesturing. _‘No one will think it’s you, mate. I’ll do all I can to draw attention to me. All you need to do is hide for a while.’_

 _‘Just hide.’_ Pettigrew didn’t sound convinced.

_‘Yeah, no one can hide like you, Wormtail.’_

Pettigrew turned to Potter. _‘But wouldn’t Sirius be a better choice, I mean …’_

_‘What?’_

Pettigrew sighed, and gestured to Black who was still circling them. _‘You’ve far braver than me.’_

 _‘What!?’_ Black grabbed hold of Pettigrew and almost shook him. _‘You’re a Gryffindor, Pete, a Marauder! Part of the Order, you’ve faced battle just like the rest of us, you’re a fighter, you-’_

James Potter stepped forward and pushed his friends apart. _‘Padfoot, take it easy.’_ He turned to Pettigrew. _‘Pete, it’s risky, I know, but-’_

_‘You can do this, mate.’_

_‘Shush, Pads.’_

Pettigrew hesitated. _‘You trust me with this?’_

_‘Of course we do.’_

A long while, the three of them stood there. Amelia wondered what Pettigrew had been thinking about, as his friends were placing their lives in his hands. Had he already decided to betray them? Or did that come later? Eventually, the silvery Pettigrew swallowed and stood up a bit straighter, looking at the two others.

_‘… I’ll do it.’_

Potter smiled gratefully. Black gave a sigh of relief and ruffled Pettigrew’s hair like they were schoolboys. _‘I knew we could count on you.’_

As the scene changed again, the figure of James Potter dissolved. Black and Pettigrew drifted to opposite sides of the pensieve, as shadowy shapes of people started moving around the edge of the basin. This was Great Tower Street on November 1st, and Black hadn’t really focused on the muggles around them.

 _‘Peter!’_ The terrible, anguished scream echoed from the depth of the pensieve and into the courtroom. Pettigrew startled, and tried to disappear behind the shapeless bystanders.

 _‘PETER, STOP! TURN AND FACE ME, DAMN IT!!’_ Black screamed again. He pointed his wand at his old friend, not caring who was watching. Pettigrew turned, fiddling with his own wand behind his back. A sudden flash of pain appeared on his face, but then he stood up straight; suddenly determined. _‘TRAITOR!’_ he yelled. Black flinched at this sudden accusation, and Pettigrew continued: _‘LILY AND JAMES, SIRIUS! HOW – COULD – YOU!?!’_

The sound of the explosion echoed in the room, as the shapeless bystanders turned into silvery smoke that spilled out past the edge of the pensieve. For a moment, Amelia could see the outline of the two remaining figures, then one of them shrank down to nearly nothing, and the small ghostly creature dove down into the depths of the basin.

As the smoke cleared, only Black remained. He looked down into the basin, where the other figure had disappeared. He looked around, seemingly confused. Ghostly shapes of people began to appear around him, and screams started to echo. Black stumbled and fell to his knees. His shoulder’s shook; for a moment Amelia wasn’t sure if the small figure was laughing or crying. Then the muffled sounds rose through the screams of the bystanders; a disturbed laughter, devoid of joy. He laughed and kept laughing till he started coughing, but with every breath he drew, the insane laughter kept bubbling up. Small silvery tears were streaming down his face.

The echoing laughter died down as the figure of Black dissolved into silvery smoke that sank into the basin. No new memories rose up through the surface. It was almost eerily quiet in the room when Amelia gently took the pensieve and carried it back to its box. As the room became brighter, she noticed how tears were slowly running down Black’s face, as they had done that day in November.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius has no specific wand in canon, so I checked around and ended up picking this combination:
> 
>   * _“Dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most magic power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.”_
>   * _“Blackthorn wands, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in Garrick Ollivander's well-merited opinion, of being best suited to a warrior. These wands appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded. Given this condition, the blackthorn wand will become as loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish.”_
> 



	3. Chapter 3

When every testimony had been heard and all the evidence had been presented, Crouch rose and began giving his closing statement. “There is no _clear_ evidence backing up Mr. Black’s story. Any witnesses that can _confirm_ it are either dead, or possibly biased. The fact that Mr. Black is an Animagus does not prove anything else he says to be true. In fact, that skill alone paints a picture of a man capable of breaking the law and keeping secrets, from a very young age.”

From the beginning, Crouch had been against taking up these cases; he seemed to view several of the retrials as slights against his judgement. He had been the one to send Black straight to Azkaban in November, if the man ended up going free, it would mean Crouch had made a serious mistake.

“The memories might seem like the truth, but consider this: An insane man that believes his lies can still lie under influence of a truth potion. Memories are highly subjective, and should be viewed the same way. _Unreliable._ And if these memories _were_ to be true, we only saw Peter Pettigrew agreeing to be Secret Keeper, that’s not proof that he actually _was_. As for the confrontation at Great Tower Street …” He paused. “Black claims that Pettigrew used a wand he had on his back, but the memories are not clear enough to confirm this. They didn’t show much more than what witnesses already told us in November.”

Crouch concluded: “Judging by what has been presented here today; I believe the sentence from November should remain unchanged.”

Crouch sat down. Amelia noticed how he hadn’t mentioned anything about Black’s brother being a Death Eater, and how their parents had been rumoured to be supporting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It had come up several times during her investigation. 'The apple never rots far from the tree', some people had told her. But after what happened to his son, it was clearly not in Crouch’s interest to imply such things. 

“Madam Bones.”

Amelia stepped forward. “When Mr. Black was arrested in November, a quick glance at the case was enough to judge him as guilty. But as the investigation into the case has shown, the evidence was circumstantial, and the witnesses did not know what they saw.”

Her voice was loud and clear as she addressed the Wizengamot. “Let me remind you of the lack of physical evidence: Mr. Black’s wand did not cast the spell that destroyed Great Tower Street and killed the victims. We’ve heard it told that Mr. Black was part of You-Know-Who’s inner circle. How would that be possible, when he doesn’t carry his mark?”

Some people whispered, but most seemed to focus on listening and actually considering her words. “Mr. Black volunteered to show you his memories, and I myself have listened to his story under influence of veritaserum.”

Amelia had placed a lot of stock in the memories managing to sway the members of the Wizengamot. It hadn’t been done before, but she hoped that if they _saw_ what had happened, it could cut through what they had previously believed to be facts.

“We’ve been at war for more than a decade. We’ve fought hard battles, and we’ve made mistakes. Sirius Black’s sentence was a mistake in the last days of the war. Now with the war over, we have a chance to right what’s wrong.”

Amelia ignored Crouch’s scowl as she walked over to Black and placed her hand on his shoulder. “What we have here is a young man that fought valiantly for our cause, and to protect the people he cared about. His mistake was to trust the wrong person. He’s lost his friends, his freedom, and any chance to start over in the peaceful world he fought for.”

She let her gaze glide over the members of the Wizengamot. “I believe, if you let the sentence from November stay, this will be the worst miscarriage of justice the British Wizarding world has ever seen!”

Amelia didn’t move from Black’s side after finishing her speech. She had done all she could. She hoped it had reached them. For a while the only sound to be heard was the journalists’ quills scribbling over papers. Then Crouch spoke up. “The Wizengamot will now retire to make their decision.”

The members stood up as one large plum-coloured mass, before heading out of the room. Now they could only wait, hoping it had been enough. Black looked at her.

“… how long will they take?”

“Can’t say. It will depend on how soon each member can reach a conclusion. I’ve been at trials where they returned after half an hour, or … seven.”

Black sighed.

* * *

Time slowly ticked away. Spectators left again, and came back. After an hour, some left for good, tired of waiting. People shuffled around as seats were emptied. Remus Lupin snuck down to the lower benches closer to Black’s chair. His smiles were slightly forced, and he kept anxiously fiddling with the end of his scarf.

After two hours, the Wizengamot were still missing. Lupin went to pick up some sandwiches. It took some arguing, but the aurors present allowed Black to get one hand free to eat. Any of Amelia’s requests for him to stretch his legs however were denied.

“This man has been chained to this chair for several hours now, surely-”

“I’m sorry, Madam Bones, that is out of the question.”

“It’s inhumane. The Wizengamot might not return for hours. Black has no wand, and there’s more than half a dozen aurors in the room, where is the risk?”

Auror Hopkins turned to his colleague. “We can call back the dementors. They can take him to the holding cell, he can move freely in there with them guarding-”

Black suddenly spoke up: “No. No, please, I can stay here.” He looked stiff and uncomfortable, but if the price for walking around was the company of those creatures, he clearly preferred to stay in the chair.

After more than three hours, Amelia could feel a headache coming on. Almost half of the spectators had left by now, and some of the remaining ones seemed to be half-asleep. The journalists stubbornly stayed where they were. It wouldn’t matter how good the article was if it was missing the answer to the most important question; guilty or not guilty. Dumbledore was still on the bench, drinking tea and reading what appeared to be a knitting magazine. Lupin and Black was talking mechanically, trying to find completely neutral topics that didn’t lead them back to Black’s current situation. Lupin kept on fiddling with his scarf as he filled Black in on the latest Quidditch results. Amelia felt sure that the threads on the edge hadn’t been _that_ frayed when he had sat down beside them.

* * *

Finally, the doors opened, and the Wizengamot walked back into the room. The spectators sat up straight again, studying the members as they filed into the room. Beside her, Amelia noticed how Black tensed up. She almost wanted to tell him would be alright, but she couldn’t promise that. She placed her hand on his.

It was quiet in the courtroom as the members sat down. Then Crouch rose. “Those in favour of upholding the sentence of November 2nd 1981, lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban, for aiding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers, and the thirteen counts of murder carried out November 1st 1981?”

Crouch raised his hand, but he was one of the few to do so. Black was still as a statue, but Amelia could feel his pulse start to hammer.

“Those in favour of … clearing the accused of all charges?”

Old Griselda Marchbanks raised her hand, and with her more than two thirds of the Wizengamot. An intense relief filled Amelia, and she could feel a most unprofessional grin spread over her face.

“Sirius Orion Black is hereby cleared of all charges.” The witch next to Crouch muttered something. He grumbled and continued: “The punishment for being an unregistered Animagus is a six month sentence in Azkaban. That sentence is now at an end. You are a free man, Mr. Black.”

No sooner had he spoken the words when one of the journalists grabbed her quill and papers and hurried out of the room. Some of her colleagues followed her, all of them determined to be the first to break the big news. Others stayed, to get details.

When Amelia turned to Black, he was still staring at the members of the Wizengamot as if he didn’t dare to believe it. Then he looked up at her, wordlessly asking her to confirm it. Amelia still smiled. “Yes. You are free.” As if they had waited for her words, the chains on the chair came to life and fell away from his arms.

Black stood up slowly, a bit stiff after being trapped for several hours. Someone in the crowd started to clap. Several of the spectators joined in. It was a stark contrast to their attitude this morning, when most of them had believed Black to guilty. Several had come only to watch the spectacle, curious to get the gory details about the brutal crimes. At some point during the trial, the mood had shifted. And now the judgement had confirmed it.

Black turned to Amelia. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Black.”

Amelia had never been much of hugger, but when Black embraced her, she let him. He shook as she patted his back, mumbling an incoherent string of grateful words into her hair.

Finally, Black released her. He walked over to the low barrier separating the spectator seats from the courtroom floor, and almost climbed over it so he could embrace Lupin. The two young men clung to each other so tightly Amelia wondered how they managed to breathe.

The members of the Wizengamot had started to rise. As they passed several of them congratulated her on the acquittal. Crouch left without so much as looking at her. The room was full of noise. Some spectators mingled with the members of the Wizengamot on the way out, others stayed behind. Everyone was talking. When Dumbledore walked by, she got a smile and a “Well done, Amelia.” Soon several journalists encircled her.

Amelia felt happier than she had been in months.

The war had taken so many, torn so many families apart. She herself was still dealing with the loss of Edgar, Gwendolyn and their children. The Wizarding Society was still picking up the pieces, rebuilding and trying to heal. So far, the retrials she had fought so hard for had been a parade of gruesome crimes and mostly unrepentant criminals, but tonight she had made a difference.

She turned to look at Black. He was in the spectator stand beside Lupin, talking to a Ministry Official about when he could get his wand back and what forms to fill out for the Animagus Registry. They wouldn’t ship him back to a cell in Azkaban tonight, or any night to follow. He could leave the courtroom a free man, with a chance to rebuild his life.

She had helped make that happen. Amelia smiled, turned to the journalists, and started answering their questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The use of Pensieves at trials weren’t widespread. After the widely publicized use of it in the trial of Sirius Black in 1982, they soon ended up being forbidden on the same grounds as truth-potions. For being ‘unfair and unreliable to use at a trial’. The considerable donations from pureblood-families with suspected ties to Dark Wizards to help pass this law are completely incidental and in no way suspect.”  
> \- Magical Law in the 20th Century


End file.
